A House for Keeping

by Matteson Wynn

  Babs helpfully opened her door on the first try. I grabbed my blanket from the back and used it to cover my seat to protect Babs from the bits of the dumpster that came with me. Then Fuzzy and I climbed in and headed for the vet.

  As soon as I turned the engine on, Fuzzy explained that he had very definite opinions about cars. Like most felines, he disapproved. Loudly. Then with claws. Then he peed on me. In the brief amount of time it took me to get to the vet’s office, I acquired a whole new appreciation for carry cases.

  We pulled up, and I stumbled out of the car. Fuzzy stopped yowling and popped his head out of my sweater to check out his surroundings. I hurried inside before he got wiggly and tried to make a run for it.

  Chapter Five

  One step into the vet’s office, and Fuzzy decided that it fell into the “to be avoided at all costs” category. As I struggled across the waiting room to the reception desk, the people and even the pets shrank back. It was a toss-up whether it was from Fuzzy’s caterwauling or the eau de Fuzzy wafting in my wake.

  I reached the receptionist. “Uh, I’m here to see the vet? The uh—dammit, Fuzzy, will you quit it? Ow!—cop guy said he called ahead?”

  She didn’t even bat an eye as Fuzzy did his best Aliens impression and tried to claw his way through my sweater. “Yup. Why don’t you have a seat, and he’ll be with you soon.” She gave me a brief smile and turned to answer the phone.

  Grateful she hadn’t given me a pile of forms to fill out, I turned around to look for a seat.

  A vet tech in scrubs appeared, calling, “Mr. Sherman?”

  A woman sitting next to the only open seat in the waiting room said, “Why don’t you let the young lady go next? You don’t mind waiting, do you Ron?”

  A man holding a terrier said, “Sure, go ahead.”

  The terrier and everyone else in the room looked relieved as I turned and followed the tech.

  “I see we’re doing the ‘but I don’t want to see the vet’ dance,” said the vet tech with a smirk as she led us to an exam room.

  Once she closed the door, I reached down into my sweater and extricated the squeaking troublemaker. The vet tech weighed him, then handed him back, and was out the door in record time, with a “The vet will be in soon,” before she closed the door behind her.

  To my surprise, the vet appeared almost immediately. My guess was the closed door hadn’t done enough to muffle the smell or the noise, and we were upsetting the other patients.

  Fuzzy took one look at the vet and decided he needed to get down. Now. I grappled with his wriggling body and said, “Jeez, from the fit he’s pitching, I’d swear he already knew what a vet was. No offense.”

  “None taken,” he said. Waving his hand in front of his nose, he said, “Wow. That is truly impressive. And that’s more than just cat pee. What did you do?”

  “He was in between a couple of dumpsters—what was I supposed to do, leave him there?” I said. Normally, I’d be flapping my arms in indignation. But since Fuzzy was a two-hand job at the moment, I settled for pulling myself up to my full height and giving the vet the stink eye.

  Now that I was looking at him fully, it just made me give him the stink eye even more. I was covered in dumpster drippings, so of course he was handsome. He was all scruffy and rugged, with hair that I bet was tousled from actually being outside, not from a ton of hair gel. His eyes sparked with laughter. At me. I considered “accidentally” bumping into him and wiping my sweater on him.

  My thoughts must’ve been showing because he raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, no harm, no foul. Believe me, I’ve been covered in worse.” He started to grin again, “But not recently.”

  I was about to suggest what he could do with his sweet smelling self when Fuzzy let out a particularly pitiful squeak.

  The vet’s demeanor changed immediately. “Hey buddy,” he said, voice soft. He looked at me and asked, “May I?” When I nodded, he gently pried Fuzzy off my sweater. When the vet had Fuzzy cupped in his hands, Fuzzy quieted immediately. As the vet talked to him in a soft, low voice, Fuzzy looked up, head cocked.

  My dad used to do that. Just touch an animal and talk to it, and it’d sort of melt under his touch, no matter how panicked it had been. He’d have loved my Fuzzy adventure. Realizing my eyes were filling with tears, I stepped away and checked out the exam room. Like the waiting room, it was pristine, but somehow very welcoming. Rather than the usual blinding white I associated with vet offices, this room had warm wooden paneling.

  “By the way, I’m Dr. Meriwether—Hugh,” the vet said.

  “Oh, yeah, hi, I’m Finn,” I said, turning back to him. His hands were full of Fuzzy, so I just sort of waved at him instead of trying to shake his hand.

  “Well, he’s a boy,” Dr. Meriwether said, as he examined Fuzzy. “He’s obviously underfed, and I’d say he’s not quite eight weeks.” He looked at Fuzzy. “Too soon for you to be off gallivanting on your own there, boyo.” He stroked Fuzzy between the ears, and Fuzzy leaned into his touch.

  Dr. Meriwether made some notes in a chart, and then he scooped Fuzzy up. “We’ll do a quick blood test, deworm him, and clean him up. You want to come back in a couple of hours and pick him up?”

  “Um, hang on, didn’t that cop tell you? This is a drop off. I’m just visiting relatives here in town—I can’t take on a kitten.”

  Dr. Meriwether didn’t look happy. “Listen, normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but the timing couldn’t be worse. We’re actually closing tonight for the whole weekend, which is weird for a vet, I know, but I’m going out of town.” A calculating look appeared in his eyes. “You seem like you’re awfully good with animals. I’m betting this isn’t your first dumpster-diving rescue?”

  What, did I have “sucker for strays” written in glitter on my forehead? “First dumpster, actually yes. First stray?” I looked down at my feet, scuffing the floor with my shoe. “No,” I muttered.

  “So you’ve got some experience fostering?”

  I grinned at the “fostering,” not that he’d get the joke. Unfortunately, he mistook my grin.

  “Well good. Since you’ve done this before, can you keep him for the weekend? We can find him a real foster when we reopen on Monday.”

  I nearly said “You’ve got your real Foster right here,” but given the reaction of the other locals, I said instead, “Uh, well, I don’t know.”

  “Are you staying in a hotel?” he said.

  “No. I’ll be at my relatives’ house.” I must’ve looked as unconvinced as I felt, because he resorted to bribery.

  “Tell you what,” Dr. Meriwether said. “Check with your relatives while I’m cleaning him up. If you guys can take him for the weekend, then this whole visit is free. I’ll even send you home with a goodie bag to get you through the weekend. Hey, trust me, one look at this cute face, and they’ll be goners. In fact, they may decide to keep him after you go.”

  I really did want Fuzzy to find a good home. “Fine,” I said. “If they’re okay with it, I can look after him for the weekend.” At the very least, he’d give me an excuse to escape the festivities if I needed one.

  Dr. Meriwether whisked Fuzzy away and reappeared with a bulging bag of supplies.

  I glared at him. “That is way too many supplies for one weekend.”

  He was all innocence. “You know, it’s just in case. Better to be prepared, than not have enough.”

  It wasn’t worth arguing with him. “Wait, there are bottles in here. He’s not fully weaned?”

  Dr. Meriwether said, “Hard to tell. Like I said, better to be safe than sorry.”

  Awesome. I’d be on bottle duty in the wee hours of the morning. I snagged the bag and headed for the door, “Thanks for the loaner. I’ll return whatever’s left over when you take him back on Monday.”

  Chapter Six

  By the time I left the vet’s, I was running late. When I arrived at the stretch of woods, the combination of the tree shadows and the fading sunlight made the dr
iveway all but invisible. Even knowing where it was, I still drove by it once and had to double back.

  Babs and I bumped down the driveway, which was more like a private road that wound through the woods. I drove with the windows down in the hope that I’d wind up smelling more like pine than dumpster. Nothing short of a shower—or a fire hose—was truly going to deskunk me at this point, but I’d take what I could get.

  Between running late and feeling like a hot mess, I was a ball of teeth-clenching, steering-wheel-strangling stress. But the farther I drove, the more the twilight calm of the forest started sinking into me. My jaw relaxed, my hands loosened on the steering wheel, and I started to chuckle. Well, at least I’d make a big entrance. Hopefully I wasn’t the only one in the family with a sense of humor.

  My first sign of civilization came when I crossed a small wooden bridge that arched over a tinkling creek. On the other side of the bridge, the driveway straightened out, and I could see to the end of the road.

  Standing sentinel on either side of the entrance to a clearing, two enormous oak trees dominated the landscape. The oaks’ branches reached over the driveway so that it looked like they were hugging each other over the road. I’d read about these kinds of really old, massive trees, but the descriptions didn’t come near to describing the age and strength radiating from them. It’s like they knew. I wasn’t sure what they knew, but I found myself sitting up straight and wanting to mind my manners. As I drove beneath their canopies, I got the oddest sense that they were scrutinizing me as closely as I was them.

  My attention was yanked away from the trees when I rolled into the clearing and slowed Babs to a stop.

  I was at the edge of a grove that formed an open, round area. While part of the grove was still grassy, some of it had been converted into a circular driveway with a parking area off to the right.

  But I couldn’t really focus on any of that because I was too busy staring at the house.

  It looked like an old-fashioned farmhouse had strolled out of the past and plunked itself down in the middle of the clearing. Made entirely of aged, darkened wood, the house looked as though it could have sprung right out of the forest floor with the rest of the trees. Something about the way the house anchored into the land had me picturing an old man in a frayed cardigan, settled into his favorite chair in a dark study.

  I nudged Babs forward and parked next to the other cars off to the right. There weren’t very many cars, so maybe I wasn’t the only one who was late.

  Babs and I both sighed as I shut her off. I patted her dashboard. Later it’d hit me that we’d completed the first part of our journey, but I didn’t have time for deep reflection just now. So, I did a little “Woohoo, we made it!” wiggle dance and promised Babs we’d celebrate later. Then I climbed out, snagged my suitcase, and headed for the house.

  The stairs grunted a greeting as I climbed onto the drooping porch. I raised my hand to knock on the door, but my nerves were back, and my hand was shaking. I put my suitcase down and took a moment to get a grip. Turning to look across the grove, I saw the big oaks stretching toward me, the breeze making them look as though they were waving at me. I grinned at my fanciful thoughts, but that didn’t stop me from doing a little finger wave back. Taking a slow, deep breath I let the leafy scent of the forest, the rustle of the wind in the trees, and the soft twilight wrap around me. The hostility of the men in the bar made more sense to me now. I could see why someone would start a fight over this property. It was enchanting.

  The ticking from Babs’s cooling engine prodded me to stop stalling. I faced the house and knocked. While I waited, I studied the worn wooden door. The woodgrain was so beautiful that I reached out to trace the patterns with a fingertip.

  Apparently the door didn’t like being felt up by a stranger because it gave me a huge splinter. Worse, my finger bled on the door. The wood was so dark, I doubted anyone would notice, but I tried to wipe off the blood with a clean spot on the edge of my sleeve. I was wiping at the door when it opened.

  And there was Meg. Pristine. That’s what popped into my head. She looked like she’d walked off the pages of a Chanel ad, model pretty, perfect makeup, dark hair gleaming. Dressed in a blouse and flowy trousers, she looked expensive. I, on the other hand, well I didn’t want to think about what I looked like, but I was guessing it was in the neighborhood of “homeless chic.”

  Her perfume wafted by me about the same time my own special scent must’ve hit her because she took a breath to speak, choked, and took a step back.

  “Finn? You’re Finn, right? God, what happened to you?”

  “Meg! Hey, you recognize me after all this time!”

  “Well, no…not really. It was just process of elimination—you’re the last to arrive.” As she waved a hand in front of her face, she looked me over with a blend of amusement and distaste. “Really, what happened?”

  “Well, I found a stray kitten in a dumpster, and I couldn’t just leave him there, but he turned out to be harder to get than it looked, and then he freaked out and peed on me when I took him to the vet, and I don’t have a hotel room to go change in cuz I’m staying here, so now I’m kind of a mess…sorry.” Oh no. I was doing it again.

  Meg laughed and shook her head. “I see you haven’t changed a bit. Well, come on in, and we’ll see what we can do about—” she gestured at me, “—this.”

  “Well, wait, there’s more. The vet asked me if I could look after Fuzzy—the kitten—while he finds a foster for it.” I smiled when I said “foster,” since she’d obviously get the joke. She didn’t smile back.

  I started shifting from foot to foot as I talked. “But the vet’s office is closed this weekend—apparently he’s going out of town—and, anyway, would it be a problem for me to keep him with me in my room? The kitten, not the vet,” I added with a grin and an eyebrow waggle. Still no smile.

  I plowed on. “Uh, no pressure though. Honest. I can bunk at a hotel, like I planned, and keep the little guy there.” I stepped back a little. “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, that might be a better idea anyway, because I could have a chance to wash up before I have to meet anyone else.” Hell, that was a great idea. I was just sorry that I’d been so distracted by Fuzzy and focused on not being late that it hadn’t occurred to me sooner. I took another step back.

  As I soon as I started backing away, Meg’s look changed to concern. She held up her hand in the “stop” gesture. “That’s ridiculous. You’re already here, and of course you’ll stay. Kitten included. In fact, we’ve got some rooms with their own bathrooms. I’ll just put you in one of those.”

  Some with their own bathrooms? I looked up at the house. How big was this thing?

  “Uh, okay, great. I mean if you’re sure,” I said. “I promise we won’t be any trouble.”

  Meg shrugged. “It’s just a kitten, and you’ll take care of him. Come on in. You can grab a shower. Oh, and you should definitely take advantage of the laundry room. Speaking of which, do you need to borrow something to wear? We wouldn’t want you to feel awkward when you meet the other guests,” she said as she yanked the door open as wide as it would go and stood as far away from me as possible.

  Like I could feel more awkward than I did already. I stepped over the threshold and into the house.

  Chapter Seven

  Meg shut the door behind me, and I stopped short to let my eyes adjust to the dimness.

  I felt like I’d walked into some dude’s man cave from the 70s. The walls were wood. The floors were wood. Even the ceiling was wood. And they were so dark. No airy, golden wood here. Just deep, dark wooden planks, slats, and panels as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t very far. A single light fixture hung from the ceiling, providing a gentle, diffused yellow light that blurred and smudged the edges of things, like it was dusk inside the house.

  It should have been creepy, or at the very least depressing. Instead it felt comforting and inviting, with a side order of mysterious. The house was playing coy
with all its half-revealed spaces, enticing me to come peek behind the shadows. I loved it.

  From where I stood in the entryway, I could see open doorways to my left and right, but with no lights on, I wasn’t sure what kind of rooms they were. The hallway I was standing in ran straight back, past a staircase on the right that led upstairs. At the end of the hallway, I could see a window that I was pretty sure was part of a back door. Voices drifted from the back of the house, so I was betting there was a kitchen back there. People always seem to gather in the kitchen.

  I was so excited to go explore that I was bouncing on my toes a little. I stroked the wall next to me and sighed, “Ooh Meg. You have a lovely home!”

  Meg’s head snapped around, and her eyes narrowed. I dropped my hand from the wall. I couldn’t blame her. In her place, I wouldn’t want my grubby hands touching stuff, either.

  She said, “We can do the grand tour later. Come on.”

  Meg headed up the stairs, and I followed her. I nearly started giggling at the racket the stairs made. My climb was accompanied by a truly spectacular stair symphony composed of squeaks, grunts, and groans. If I’d been alone, I’d have made up a song to go along with it. I swallowed a laugh as I imagined the look on Meg’s face if I started singing along with the stairs.

  The lighting upstairs wasn’t any better than downstairs. There was another long, straight hallway with a bunch of closed doors on either side. Oh and wood. Lots and lots of wood. Nary a fleck of paint or wallpaper in sight.

  Meg walked to the middle of the hallway, opened a door on the left, and waved me into a room.

  She hovered in the doorway while I went in the room and plunked my suitcase down. There was a door in the left corner that Meg pointed to. “Bathroom is in there.” She pointed to another door to the left. “Closet there. Towels and stuff are in the bathroom. Do you need anything else?”